


Agere Sequitur Credere

by orphan_account



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Knights/Primes AU, M/M, Necessary Death, Slash, major creative liberties taken, originally on deviantart but I'm moving it over here as well, violence but not explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1872477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Action Follows Beliefs."</p><p>Long ago, the Knights were the protectors of Cybertron. They kept the civilians safe, healthy, and happy. They were the guardians of peace. When the first followers of Primus arrived, the Knights took no action against them. They weren’t hurting anyone with their beliefs, and there was no reason to attack them. That was before the murders. Even now, after the Great War, the conflict continues. But they grow tired. </p><p>The time has come for the last true Knight to bring back peace. And Lord Megatron will not take liberties in his quest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Condensation dripped down his chassis as he struggled to intake air.  Pushing his body past its limits, sharply turning a corner, the yellow blur ducked and weaved, panting harshly in the quiet night. Mid-August heat suffocated the small mech, doubling the obstacles to overcome. Only the sound of his peds slapping desperately against the metal of the mine tracks could be heard.

 _Stupid slagging carbon deposits blocking my comm! If I don’t get out of here, Boss-Bot will have no clue what happened to me! Aww man, why did I volunteer for this?!_ The young scout turned another corner, losing himself further in the maze of the mining tunnels. Finally, he found a suitable out of the way spot and collapsed from exhaustion. Desperately trying to calm his breathing, he sat against the cool wall, dirt and grime collecting on the vibrant yellow plating. The young mech thought over what had brought him here in the first place.

Bumblebee had begged to leave the base, cabin fever getting to the small mech. With Sari gone away to a summer camp for the month, the yellow scout had no one else to occupy his time. Boredom itched at his plating like a bad rust infection; even his usual routine of video games, annoying Prowl, and dodging Ratchet’s anger didn’t satiate him. So when Prime asked for someone to check out the Decepticon mines, Bumblebee volunteered.

The only Decepticons to have been seen on Earth were Soundwave and Shockwave, but they had fled for the stars once the Elite Guard had gotten wind of their presence.  Megatron himself hadn’t been seen since the battle with the Decepticons last month. With his leader heavily injured, Starscream had pulled him to safety before calling over his cowardly clone, Skywarp, to warp them out of there. They hadn’t been seen since.

All that was left in the mines was some human mining equipment. The space-bridge technology had been given to Ultra Magnus’ team for safekeeping; though Sentinel wanted to destroy it on sight, due to it’s Decepticon origin.

There should have been little to no danger in going to the mines. Dropping down into the large canyon where the space-bridge technology used to be, Bumblebee surveyed the area, before walking around the mine’s depths, not really paying attention to where he was going.

He was paying the price for it now.

Megatron hadn’t left the planet, as they first assumed. In fact, the majority of the Decepticons had spent the last few months flying to and from the Earth’s moon, carrying pieces and supplies from their crashed warship, the _Nemesis_. They used the parts to build a new headquarters, deeper within the mines. The carbon deposits blocked comm. signals from working and blocked the Autobots from picking up their position.

Bumblebee had unknowingly walked into a section under construction. Blitzwing spotted the mech, and had alerted Megatron.

“Mien Lord, ze Autobot Bumblebee iz here,” Icy announced, dropping the purple sheets of metal he held as he turned towards his Master.

"I vill pound him into scrapmetal!" Hothead sneered, charging up his cannon and running at the smaller scout.

“NO! Continue working! Leave the Autobot to me,” Megatron growled, pushing Blitzwing out of the way and charging after the intruder. The energon running through Bumblebee's lines turned cold as he turned and ran.

According to his chronometer, he had been running from the silver warlord for the last half a joor. Which led his processor back to where he was now; out of breath, covered in coal, and hiding from the warlord. The heavy pedsteps grew closer and closer, until Bumblebee was cornered; a dead end on his right, and the warlord on his left. He was still hidden, though, behind a large mine cart full of coal that the humans had abandoned.

“I know you’re here, Scout. Come out, and I promise not to hurt you…” His voice vibrated through the smaller frame, very close to his current location. Frantically, Bumblebee tried to get his comm. link to work, but he was met with emotionless static.

_Scrap…I think that I can get out of here, there’s a small alternate rail that I can use to drive down, and I can probably drive away-_

Just then, Megatron unleashed a shot from his fusion cannon, melting and warping the metal track that Bumblebee was contemplating. As the whine from the cannon faded away, Megatron stepped closer.

“Now young one,” Megatron began. “You honestly think I’ll let a gorgeous prize like yourself get away, don’t you? Well, I have news for you.” Suddenly, a large hand wrapped around Bumblebee’s neck, hoisting him up and level to his steely, ruby gaze. “I _always_ get what I want; and I _want you_.”

The grip wasn’t enough to choke, but there was enough strength to prevent the smaller mech from getting free. Bumblebee felt his aft supported by the bigger mech’s gun arm, as he was carried back into the headquarters.

Onlining his optics, which he didn’t remember offlining, Bumblebee looked up at the larger mech. “Wh-why aren’t you going to kill me? Probably going to take me back to your mech’s and let them have their way with me, huh?” Bumblebee felt as if he was facing a fate worse than death. To be violated by the Decepticon’s, and kept around as some kind of slave? He was better off dead.

Megatron paused in his steady gait, glaring down at the yellow scout incredulously. “First of all, no other Decepticon shall even _look_ at you without my permission. And second, I just told you that I had plans for you; death isn’t really among them. Don’t pretend to understand my motives, young one. There is much that you don’t know, nor would I expect you to.”

“Hey! I’m not stupid-” Bumblebee began, defending himself in the face of his captor. But another glare from the warlord reminded Bumblebee who exactly he was dealing with, and he quickly shut up.

If he never saw his teammates again, there was one thing that he needed to make clear to Megatron, even if he didn’t listen. “Please, whatever you do, don’t hurt my teammates. You can do whatever you want to me; just don’t hurt them.”

“I can’t guarantee that your Autobot team members will be safe,” the silver mech sneered, “but I _do_ plan on doing whatever my spark desires to you.” The duo walked into a clearing, one that Bumblebee distantly remembered passing is his escape attempt. Late afternoon light filtered through gaps in the mine walls far above their helms, staining the purple and black metal a muddled red and orange. The Decepticon insignia spread on the floor and computer consoles proudly. The sight filled Bumblebee with disgust and dread.

Turning down another corridor, the warlord took Bumblebee through a sliding door into his quarters. Bumblebee tried to look around, to get a glance at a possible escape route, but a growl from Megatron stopped his squirming. Passing through another doorway, he found himself in the washracks.

The washracks themselves were far above Bumblebee's  expectations. Onyx black sheet metal cut into tiles on the floor, with shattered rubies intermixed with the metal. The shining red gems provided a little light in the darkness, oddly comforting. Amethyst crystals framed the Decepticon purple trim of the room, and sparkling diamond-dust melded into every surface of the room. The result was a comforting darkness, polar opposite from what the young scout had imagined.

There were no jagged rocks protruding from the floor and ceiling, no rusted and outdated faucets and drains, no stains on the floor from _Primus only knows_ bodily-fluids; it was sterile, relaxed (though still dangerous), _enticing_ place. It scared Bumblebee that a small part of him never wanted to leave, enthralled by the darkness.

“You need a bath; you are covered in coal and dirt, and it ruins your beautiful plating,” Megatron rumbled, gently tracing Bumblebee's faceplate. Purring enigmatically, Megatron leaned down to turn on the tap. Bumblebee expected to be thrown in the shower, and have scalding (or ice cold) solvent that made his paint peel, before being molested by Megatron.

He did not expect to be complimented, nor expect to feel his spark flutter at the kind words. _What are you doing, Bumblebee! He’s the enemy! A Decepticon!_ All thought fled, however, when the warlord gently lowered him into the lukewarm bath, a sponge lightly massaging his plating in circular patterns, cleaning the yellow metal.

Bumblebee couldn’t prevent himself from relaxing into the touch, engine lightly purring in contentment. Slowly, the dirt and grime clinging to his plating washed away, darkening the solvent around him. The warm solvent lapped at his waist, lulling his senses. Gentle circles from the sponge trailed down his chest, shoulders and forearms, and his helm, relaxing the youngling.

When the sponge brushed against his pelvic plating however, Bumblebee shocked himself back into reality. Spinning away from Megatron, not caring about the dirty solvent splashing everywhere, Bumblebee felt disappointment crawling over his frame. How dare he enjoy Megatron’s touch! This is the leader of the Decepticons! This is treason! That slaghead Sentinel Prime would have his helm if he ever find out!

“Why do you run from me, my young one? When have I ever brought direct harm to you?” Megatron’s dark voice washed across Bumblebee’s audio receptor’s, seducing his spark.

Anger pulsed through the younger mech’s lines, shocking his processor out of Megatron’s hold. “What have you done? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?! You’ve caused a war, killed millions of innocent Autobots, made me send an innocent mech to the stockades, and you have to ask _what have you done?!?”_ Bumblebee was seething mad. What kind of sparkles slagger would have caused all of the damage that he had, only to wonder why a member of the other faction hated him so?

Megatron lunged towards the smaller mech, splashing more dirty solvent across the floor. “And what have your Primes told you of the past?” he growled, mere presence pinning Bumblebee against the edge of the tub. “No one acts without provocation, and every action causes a sequence of events out of their control. History is written by the winners, those who survive. And the following generations are _indoctrinated_ ,” Megatron sneered at the word, “with the ‘truth’.”

 _What is he going on about?_ Bumblebee thought. His optics broke contact with the ruby stare, so Megatron grabbed his shoulders, shaking him and forcing him to look back into his fiery optics. “And no one has any idea what happened to the losers, those sentenced to a fate worse than death; to live in the shadows of one’s enemy is the ultimate act of shame. Constantly rubbing in the fact that they failed, that their enemy is no in charge! It's a disgrace! As if winning is not enough for them, they must take _everything_ from the losers! Loved ones, property, social standings, credits, _LIFE!_ So _don’t you dare_ place the blame on solely me, young one; your Primes aren’t as spotless as you think!”

The brutal strength of the warlord was obvious as the metal below his grasp strained to keep its shape. Bumblebee could feel his wheels rims beginning to bend, his exposed upper-arm protoform skin bruising under his cruel hold.

“M-megatron…please…y-you’re hurting m-me…” Bumblebee whimpered, desperate to get away from the iron grip. Shock crossed Megatron’s faceplates, as he released the mech.

“Young one,...I-I’m sorry,” Megatron whispered. An unidentifiable emotion crossed Megatron’s faceplates, before he hesitantly reached out towards his captive.

Instinct took over as Bumblebee flinched away, protecting what was left unmarred of his aching chassis. Yet something in the tone that Megatron used made Bumblebee look back up, into his gaze. Solvent dripped down the yellow mech's face, rivulets flowing down the metal as he hesitantly made optic contact.

“Bumblebee…call me Bumblebee…” he murmured. If he was going to stay here, he was at least going to be called his proper name. An honest smile graced Megatron’s faceplates, as he looked down at the yellow mech.

“I’m sorry…Bumblebee,” the dark voice said, silky in it’s texture as it wove around Bumblebee’s audio receptors. At the sound of his true name, Bumblebee returned the expression, shyly smiling at his captor.

And so it began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of these characters.


	2. Chapter 1

Megatron looked over at his (hopefully) soon-to-be mate. The night darkened the mine’s even more so, but Megatron wasn’t bothered. The light from the gems was enough.

Soft curves led the way from his chest plate, over his abdominal plating, down to his shapely hips. Steady invents and exvents expanded his chassis, the only evidence of function. Ash gray faceplates enthralled the warlord. Would they be soft and supple to his touch? Would they remain cold and closed off, or spread into joy when he entered the room? To see his expression contort in bliss was the goal of Megatron, but he wouldn’t push the scout into something that he didn’t want. His upbringing prevented it. To do such a thing was immoral, unlawful; Bumblebee had to love him.

Megatron was one-hundred percent sure that eventually Bumblebee would love him. The silver mech would do anything for his young one to ensure his happiness and safety; except returning him back to his Autobot brethren. No doubt the youngest Prime didn’t understand exactly what his predecessors had done. Murdering thousands, corrupting Cybertron, ruining anything the Knights had created in the name of Cybertron, destroying any trust left in the galaxies in the Knight’s name. Anger and frustration pulled at his spark, making him clench his fists. His fingers balled together, curled in frustration, until he looked over at his Bumblebee. The calming, steady invents soothed away Megatron’s anger. Just knowing that his love was okay and safe relaxed his unruly spark. The voice of his mentor, Turnblade, sounded in his helm. _If your mate is okay and safe with you or someone you trust, you will survive anything that comes your way._ It was one of the creeds of the Knighthood. 

"My little Bee already fulfills a partial requirement as my mate and he doesn’t even know,” Megatron thought, as he rolled over and went back to recharge.

* * *

 

 Megatron onlined suddenly, sitting up in his berth. Something had woken the warlord, but he wasn’t sure what. A low grumbling sound made it’s way to Megatron’s audios, and he turned toward the sound.

The brilliant-yellow scout was sitting on his berth, curled into a ball of despair. “Bumblebee,” Megatron spoke, making sure to use his real name. “Would you like some energon?” The scout jumped, before dejectedly turning around.

“Umm…I-I’m not r-really h-hungry…” Bumblebee stuttered before his tank betrayed him.

“Bumblebee, you’ve got to take care of yourself,” Megatron gently chastised as he stood and walked towards the scout. Placing a servo on his shoulder, Megatron didn’t try to hid his hurt at his scout flinching away. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Megatron whispered. “You have to trust me.”

“I don’t have to do anything! The minute I do, that means that I have accepted you as my leader, and my mate! And then I’ll be forced to do whatever you say, with no input from myself at all!” Bumblebee retorted, full of malice.

Shocked, Megatron pulled away. “What makes you think slag like that is true?”

“Prime told me that that’s what happens when you find a mate. It depends on if you do the asking, or are being asked. If you ask, then you are the dominant one in the relationship, and whatever you say goes. Since you ‘asked’” Bumblebee put air quotes around the word, showing his utter sarcasm. “Then you are the dominant figure. If you wanted to beat me, there would be nothing anyone could do about it. That’s how it’s always been, Megatron. Or have you been lost in space for so long chasing after complete myths that you forgot what your home planet was like!?” After his outburst, Bumblebee seemed to pale, as if everything that he had just said came rushing back to him.

“Y-you’re going to… _punish_ me now…a-aren’t you?” he whimpered, curling tighter into himself.  
  
Anger boiled in Megatron's spark. The Primes were even more sexist and bigoted than he realized! All that praise about following the beliefs of Primus was complete bull-slag! He wanted nothing more than to go down to the Autobot's base and murder every single one of them! Corrupting the sparks of the youth apparently never ended...  
   
But then, the implications of Bumblebee's statement snapped within Megatron's consciousness. Kneeling next to the distraught Autobot, Megatron struggled to find words to comfort him. At this point, anything that he said to the smaller mech would be turned into a lie, twisted and held against him. When someone is pinned against their will, their natural cunning and wit comes out, even if they didn't know that they had any in the first place. Considering Bumblebee's scathing silver tongue at times, Megatron knew that he could really garner nasty words from the yellow mech. But what to do?

Crouching low to the floor, Megatron leaned away from the younger mech, before sitting cross-legged on the ground. Lord Megatron did not bow. He did not kneel. He did not give someone else power over him; and yet, for his sparkmate, he would do anything.

“Bumblebee,” he softly intoned. “I would never hurt you. And it pains me that you would think I would do something like that. I can honestly say that I would never do that to you.” The sheer emotion in the words left Bumblebee breathless.

“B-but Prime said…”

“Do you remember what I said to you yesterday?” Megatron asked, daring to meet Bumblebee’s gaze. “That the Primes aren’t as good as you thought?”

Bumblebee nodded.

Megatron stood, pain flashing through his spark at the fear that washed over Bumblebee’s faceplates, before walking to the back of the room and filling up an energon cube. The room was silent except for the splash of the pink liquid filling the cup. Turning the tap off, he walked back to the smaller mech on the berth, and handed him the cube, a wordless command to drink.

“Bumblebee…I speak the truth. There would be no reason, no motive for me to try and deceive you, and that is the extent of it. I will try to be as honest as possible with you, forever more. And Bumblebee, you must drink.”

Obediently, the smaller mech raised the cube to his lips, swallowing the life giving liquid. Finally, the energon reached it’s completion, just the crystallized dregs clinging to the bottom of the cup. Megatron took the drink away, and disposed of it. He turned back to Bumblebee when a knock sounded on the door. 

Bumblebee smirked before he could help himself. Megatron looked at hi questioningly as he walked to the door.

“I mean, c’mon,” Bumblebee snorted derisively. “You guys are the big, bad Decepticon’s and you still _knock on doors?_ ”

Inwardly, Megatron was happy that the young mech seemed to snap back to his jovial, yet sarcastic, sense of humor. Outwardly, the grey warlord merely raised an optic ridge.

“If you recall, the carbon deposits here disguise our signal, but they also block comms. This is the only way of long distance communication, save screaming down the halls like a bunch of barbarians,” he deadpanned.

A small laugh escaped Bumblebee before he quickly sobered up. _Oh well…it’s_ some _progress._ Opening the door, Megatron was met with one of the three faces of Blitzwing, Icy. “Good,” Megatron rumbled, before widening the door and allowing Blitzwing inside.

“Vhat did jou need, mien Lord?” Icy questioned, respectfully lowering his gaze as he stepped past his superior.

“I have important business to attend to elsewhere in the compound, and I need you to watch over Bumblebee for m-”

“WHAT!?” Bumblebee yelled, shooting off the bed and jumping right into Megatron’s faceplates. “Wh-what was all that slag about not letting any other Decepticon’s near me? I thought you were going to respect me, what happened to promising not to _lie_ to me? Wh-” Bumblebee was silenced when Megatron placed one finger on his mouth.

“I said that they wouldn’t be near you without my permission. I trust Blitzwing, and oddly enough, he is the most sane one here.” Megatron began, taking his finger away from Bumblebee’s face.

Bumblebee just stared at him with his mouth hanging open, optics wide. Blitzwing shifted uneasily off to the side, faces switching repeatedly, but none of them had anything to say. Finally, Icy just decided to stay in charge, and watched as the dynamic between his Lord and the Autobot played out.

“Well, Starscream’s not allowed in my quarters, and do you _really_ want to be around him anyways? And Black Arachnia and Lugnut are the ones that I need to have the meeting with, so they cannot watch over you anyways. They would sooner kill you than keep you around, although Black Arachnia may torture you more than the others.”

Bumblebee couldn’t argue with that logic, but he still had to ask one more question. “But why can’t I go with you?”

Standing, Megatron hardened his gaze. Walking to the door, he tossed his reply over his shoulder. “You can’t forget that we are at war.” The door closed softly behind him.

Bumblebee looked uncertainly up at Blitzwing. The larger Decepticon had his back to him; Bumblebee could easily shoot him in the back and try to run, but he still had _no idea how to get out of the compound._ And he still couldn’t comm. for help. Slag.

“You stay on that side of the room, got it Decepti-creep?” Bumblebee’s false bravado barely covered just how scared he really was.  
  
"As jou vish, Bumblebee," the German-accented mech replied.  
  
Pausing in his retreat back to his corner of the room, Bumblebee turned and asked, "Why did you just call me that?"  
  
"Call jou vhat?" Icy questioned.  
  
"My actual name...considering that most times we meet, you call me 'Autobot-slag,' 'cannon-fodder,' or my personal favorite, 'Yellow Menace.' So why the sudden change?" Bumblebee couldn't help but think that this was all an elaborate trick to get him to open up to the Decepticon cause. But if it was a joke, than surely Random would have come out already, spouting some nonsense about pulling the steel-wool over his eyes.  
  
"Megatron has vished zhat ve treat jou vith vespect. Since jou obviously vant to be called by jour real name, I have no reason to call jou anyzink else. Iz zhat a problem?"  
  
"N-no...I just didn't think...never...nevermind." Bumblebee mumbled, walking back to the berth. Sitting with his back against the wall, the yellow mech observed the Decepticon who in turn, watched over him.

* * *

 

  
Back at the Autobot base, Optimus Prime watched over the monitors. It had been nearly a week since Bumblebee had disappeared. They had notified the Elite Guard, but they were as good as useless on this planet. Ultra Magnus himself refused to allow his mechs to be sent on a "search and rescue mission for a lowly maintenance bot." Just another way of putting Prime's mechs in their place.  
  
Optimus sighed. Why had he allowed Bumblebee to go by himself? He had the mentality of a four year old; easily distracted, and unable to think. He should have sent someone like Prowl, but for some reason, the ninjabot had been feeling more and more secluded and isolated from the mechs that he stayed with. Whenever Prime asked about how he was feeling, Prowl merely replied something about an anniversary...whatever that meant.  
  
As far as Prime knew, Prowl had had no lovers in the past, or was particularly close to his family for him to suffer from nostalgia. He had thought to ask Jazz, but Sentinel had intercepted the comm. before Prime could do anything, and with a firm firewall and Trojan virus prevented any kind of conversation between the two mechs.  
  
"Any news?"  
  
Optimus whipped around, caught by the newcomer. He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't hear the approach of their team medic, Ratchet. Sighing, Optimus shook his helm, optics turning back to the screen.  
  
"Nothing at all, Ratchet. As far as we're concerned, he's dropped off the map. I've sent both Prowl and Bulkhead to go check ou the mines and the area around them; but the Decepticon's aren't on Earth anymore...but just in case...do you think that they may have had something to do with it? His disappearance, I mean."  
  
"Of course!" the old medic bellowed, surprising Prime. The usually quietly-cranky mech's outburst was a shock to the young Prime. Very little managed to get the older mech in such a state, usually revolving around that femme Autobot from the early stages of the war. Arcee. Even Bumblebee knew enough to keep the femme out of conversations and jokes in the base.  
  
"The Decepticon's are the cause for this slagging war! They would stop at nothing to prove their point...even capturing the youth..." The older mech sighed before turning his back to the Prime. "Although maybe it's for the best..." he muttered, not expecting Prime to hear him.  
  
"WHAT!? I know that Bumblebee can be annoying at times, but wishing him to stay with the _Decepticons_? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR _CIRCUITS_!?"  
   
Ratchet turned and glared at the Prime, before his look softened unexpectedly. "Optimus...there is much you don't know..."  
  
"Oh don't start with that, Ratchet. I know that I'm young, and inexperienced, but that is no reason for you to-"  
  
"You don't understand!" the medic whisper-yelled. "You are too young for knowledge such as this, and if Magnus finds out, he will probably offline me, but you cannot always believe everything that you are told. Believe me."  
  
Ratchet turned away again, only this time, he didn't look back. Optimus just stood there in confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of these characters.


	3. Chapter 2

_Center, stay at your center. Feel the life's energy around you. Merge with it. Invent, exvent. Feel your spark spinning outwards, feel the change in the breeze, feel the spinning of the planet that you are a part of, feel the change of the ecosystem, feel every star's breath, feel all the living things' souls singing in tandem, feel all_; _then feel_ nothing _. Center, stay at your center._  
  
Exventing steadily, Prowl slowly came out of his meditation. It was sunset in the downtown Detroit area, the warmth from the sun kissing against his plating. The sun reminded him of someone that he knew. Passionate, free, imposing, and yet necessary in everyone's life.  
  
Even the elder gentleman complaining of skin cancer caused by the harmful ultraviolet rays from their sun could not help but stay outside and enjoy the splash of colors across the placid blue canvas. Usually, the sun was calm, though always large in it's nature. Not even clouds could douse the brightness of the sun; it's light always coming through, even in the most indirect ways.  
  
_Jazz...my sun, my star...how could I have let you go?_ The fight was over nothing, not really. And yet, it also felt like everything.  
  
A past, which they had no control over, was now running their lives. Lies and trickery and opposing beliefs clashed within their minds and words of a time that has been past. History merging with the present. As Prowl's mood dropped even further, the sun continued in it's journey across the sky. The vibrant colors cooled down until it was just a monotone blue, though much deeper than before.  
  
_How fitting_ , Prowl thought wryly, for the phenomenon that most people took for granted described how he felt perfectly. When the sun was there, the world was amazing, bright, full of life. And before the sun leaves and arrives, there is a huge celebration, a huge showy arrival/departure that becomes the focal point of some people's day. It's only when the sun is absent that it allows its counterpart's light to be shown.  
  
The moon. _La Luna._ The moon, dark and invisible without it's light source, the sun. At it's fullest when the sun is right behind it, closer to it's people and yet unnoticed by most, if not all. The moon. _Myself._ Easily hidden by clouds, a less than perfect night could completely eclipse the silent beauty of the moon. Prowl felt that everything applied to him, save for the beautiful part.  
  
The gold and black ninja stood up, trying desperately to shake off the imposing thoughts. "My Jazz...how badly have I misjudged you?" It made sense that Prowl wouldn't always see eye to eye with his lover, but this was taking it to a new level. Supporting the Primes in their decisions? He had been in the dojo much longer than Prowl had, and he had known about their involvement with the Knights.  
  
Even if Megatron's actions were a little _harsh_ against the ninjas, he had understood the blind rage that could consume one being. He himself suffered from chaotic emotions, which led the ninja back to why he was out on that asteroid to begin with. He had actually been trying to get contact with other bots from the dojo, and finding out who went where. He already knew the whens and whys, but he needed to understand where he could find others of his kind.  
  
The only ones that he could get a hold of were Lockdown (the creep) and Oil Slick, both of them working for the Knights-renamed the Decepticons. Prowl would have joined them had he not caught wind that Jazz, his best-friend-turned-lover, was on the Autobot side. Knowing that he would have to make a choice, Prowl had decided that meditation would perhaps be the best choice for him. It was only his luck that the Autobots got to him before he could make the decision.  
  
Lockdown had never forgiven Prowl for going to the Autobot side; perhaps it was because he didn't understand the whole story. Either way, whenever the duo made contact, the gruesome bounty hunter always tried to get Prowl over to his side. __  
  
To this day, the only thing keeping me here is Jazz, Prowl thought. _The rest are either too young to know better, or are too old to be taught differently. Opposite ends of the spectrum, and yet both are unable to be saved. The only bot making this worthwhile is Jazz,_ Prowl turned to the now barely there light, as the stars came out. Washing over the horizon in their blanket of navy blue and white, the stars lit the way for the moon. Only, there was no moon to follow. A new moon, when the Earth stood between the moon and it's light source, causing a dark outline to fill the space where the white orb normally would be.  
  
_And I may have lost him indefinitely._ Sighing, Prowl jumped down into the hole in his roof. Might as well get some recharge while the base was still quiet; who knew when Bumblebee would come back. He held no animosity with the young one, but his constant depreciation of the Decepticons grated on Prowl's patience. _But what can I do? It's not like I can say that I'm a Decepticon supporter! They'll have me offline before I could even throw a shuriken...and_ that's _saying something._  
  
Settling down in his dark room, Prowl gave one last mournful glance at where the moon should have been before he offlined his optics, entering the realm of dreams.

* * *

Megatron strode into the council room, met with the sight of Black Arachnia and Lugnut standing at attention. Taking his customary seat at the head of the table, Megatron gestured for them to do the same, before starting the meeting.  
  
"Any new surveillance on the Autobot's plans, Black Arachnia?"  
  
"Negative. Aside from the initial confusion regarding Bumblebee's disappearance, the Autobots don't seem to care all that much," the spider femme replied. Shrugging, she turned to her Lord before remembering her place. Inclining her head slightly, she added, "My Lord."  
  
But Megatron payed to mind to the slip. His anger bubbled to the surface. He stood, knocking over his chair in the process. " _How dare they?!_ " he hissed, pacing the room like a caged animal. "One of their own, and a young one at that is gone, lost, and they _DON'T NOTICE?!"_ The warlord was yelling by now, his words echoing off the walls of the mine.  
  
Lugnut, ever the faithful, tried to go to his master's aid, but the spider femme next to him prevented movement.  
  
"How dare you prevent me from aiding our master when he is in this state?" he "whispered" because Lugnut whispering was as foreign as Blitzwing suddenly becoming sane.  
  
"Not now you glitch; save it for later. When Megatron gets in a tizzy like this, he more often than not calls for another battle against the Autobots. Save your strength for when you will need it, or else I'll web you to this chair to make you sit still. Understood?"  
  
Lugnut just bowed his helm in shame. Of course his master had a place for each of his soldiers, and it wasn't his place to call him out on it. The purple plane relaxed into his chair as Megatron stopped his ranting, striding back to the table. Exventing heavily, the warlord put his helm in his servos, contemplating what to do.  
  
"My Liege...are we to ready ourselves for an attack?" Lugnut cautiously asked.  
  
"No...no, Lugnut. We cannot. We must save our forces for the larger scale battle against the Magnus. Shockwave and Soundwave are still watching over the base, looking for any weak spots. When they discover them, I will send Black Arachnia and Oil Slick, possibly Lockdown, to explore their base. Is that understood?" Megatron looked around at his soldiers faces, making sure that the message sank in loud and clear.  
  
They couldn't attack until Shockwave and Soundwave gave the all clear, and that could take a few more lunar-cycles at best.  
  
"This plan requires absolute concentration and following my orders to the _letter_. Understand? Otherwise, this accursed war may never end."  
  
"Of course, my Liege," the two soldiers replied.  
  
"Dismissed."  
  
"Yes, my Liege." Black Arachnia and Lugnut stood up and left the meeting room, leaving Megatron to his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of these characters.


	4. Chapter 3

The Paz base was something the Autobots had yet to discover. It was on Cybertron’s fourth moon. It was chosen because of its irregular orbit, which kept it far from Cybertron except for the southern hemisphere. It was the perfect place to create a base for Shockwave and Soundwave.

The two bots had set about making the base the central hub for all Decepticon communication throughout the galaxies. Shockwave had specifically coded one of the monitors to receive two signals – one for his Autobot persona, Longarm, and the other for communication with Lord Megatron and other Decepticons.

Soundwave had greatly assisted when he had first joined Shockwave at the base. Having two mechs on board sped the process on some of the larger, more physical projects Shockwave had been neglecting in favor of his double duties.

Now the base held a whole wing of quarters, a room specifically for the manufacture of energon, functioning washracks, two meeting rooms, the monitor room (which had been the first room completed), and a rec room that was as barren as the mechs who lived there. Everything had been prepared for the inevitable stay of the rest of the Decepticons.

Starscream and his trines currently had most of the quarters filled, and Shockwave took care to ignore them as best as he could. It wasn’t easy with the strong, one dimensional personalities that each seemed to have, but it did show him practical insights into Starscream’s personality.

The first trine was made of Starscream, Thundercracker, and Skywarp. Somehow the ego and the cowardice had created a strong tie to each other, and Starscream was more than happy to be leader. Thundercracker had mellowed out once Starscream had come to his senses, and Skywarp no longer jumped at every little sound. Progress all around, in Shockwave’s book.

The second trine was made of Slipstream, Sunstorm, and Ramjet. While the liar and the sycophant sometimes butted heads, Slipstream was able to keep the two of them in line with an iron servo. The only true friction in the group was between Slipstream and Starscream, but Shockwave doubted their differences – or rather, similarities – would ever be resolved.

He could only get his work done if he were completely unaffected by outside sources – it was hard to explain to the Magnus why he was never on planet anymore, much less if any strange noises came from the background. So he kept the trines busy with in space exploration of Cybertron’s surface, and for guardians of the planet.

(Sunstorm was _oh so gracious_ to Shockwave for allowing him such an _important_ job and just _couldn’t wait_ to show his _appreciation_ to the mech – but Slipstream quickly intervened before Shockwave took away what few liberties they were allowed to have.)

Now the two faced mech stood at the monitor talking to Ultra Magnus. Shockwave – or Longarm, as was his designation at the moment – stood at attention like a _good little_ Autobot would.

He could barely hold in his shudder of revulsion.

“…and signals indicate that there should be a surge in Decepticon activity in the Northern Hemisphere sometime in the next lunar cycle, Sir. I think they plan on attacking the archives,” Longarm advised, keeping his servos crossed behind his back as he watched the Magnus receive the news.

It wasn’t a total lie; Decepticon forces would be attacking the base at the Northern-most point of Cybertron. But they weren’t there for the archives. The archives were thought to be destroyed, especially by the public, but Ultra Magnus had told his officers that the Northern base was the one to be protected at all costs. (Probably because that was where the Magnus himself resided, but the Decepticons weren’t supposed to know that.)

“I would go myself, but you know my duties are tied up as it is. Trying to decode the Decepticons signals is tedious work. As is trying to send along Autobot messages across the galaxies. Sir.”

“Of course, Longarm. Issue a security order to double protection around the base. We can’t have them get their servos on our history.” Even when faced with an imminent attack, the Magnus remained impassive as always.

Shockwave wanted to claw that stoic face apart. “Will do, Sir.”

Magnus nodded and clicked the screen off, the image fading away. As soon as Shockwave had the signal completely offline – to appear idling to other Autobots – he shifted back to his true form. “Ugh, I can’t _stand_ it, Soundwave! All the pleading and careful mannerisms – at least our cover is set,” he grumbled, clearly more than a little disgruntled with the way the conversation had gone.

Soundwave shuffled out from behind the side room, Ratbat and Laserbeak sitting contently on his shoulders. “Statement; acknowledged. Sentiment; shared.” The Egyptian-blue and gold mech knelt on the adjacent wall, fiddling with some wires again. Ratbat fluttered over to Shockwave, making a soft chittering sound. Shockwave extended a claw for the older twin to land on.

“I mean, I don’t know how much longer I can take this,” the soft voiced mech continued, watching Ratbat with a merely curious optic. “It’s not the lying, Soundwave, don’t think that. It’s the feeling that I’m betraying Lord Megatron every time I speak to that blasted mech.”

“Reaction; illogical. Shockwave; following Lord Megatron’s orders. Shockwave; obedient.” He finished setting up what seemed to be the last physical part of the monitor, clicking something into place behind the screen. Then he pulled up a smaller screen alongside it, linked them with a data cable, and began streaming code.

“I know it’s what he’s ordered, Soundwave,” Shockwave replied patiently. The other mech was still somewhat new – the nuances of conversation were sometimes lost on him. “And I’m more than happy to follow the orders.”

Ratbat tilted his head, imitating the curiosity along the symbiotic link with Soundwave. He didn’t move any closer from his position on the purple mech’s claw, instead blinking with his onyx eyes at the one optic’d mech.

“It’s just that…you have a curious symbiote here, Soundwave.”

Soundwave turns around, able to take his optics off the lines of code for a few nano kliks. “Query; Ratbat cause of conflict?”

Shockwave allowed himself a small chuckle, something anyone of the opposite faction would have thought him incapable of. “No, no Soundwave. I simply meant that he is a curious symbiote. Very hungry for knowledge.”

The other mech turned back to his code, nodding slightly. “Symbiotes; proper designation for mechlings?”

“Yes, Soundwave.” Shockwave walked closer to the visored mech, pulling a chair over with his free servo. He sat, giving Ratbat ample opportunity to leave, but the stubborn bat remained.

Laserbeak fluttered to Soundwave’s far shoulder, cawing nervously. Shockwave couldn’t blame him; the last time a stranger had touched the red and black symbiote, he had been instrumental in Soundwave’s destruction.

It was in the aftermath of Laserbeak flying the mech away that Megatron had found them. Shockwave had heard the story from Megatron upon receiving his…unusual gift from his leader.

The two symbiotes had stood guard over the small golden cassette of their leader, screeching and flapping their wings protectively at any that passed by. It took Megatron at least a week of feeding them energon to keep their strength up before they allowed Megatron to carry their leader – and even then, Laserbeak kept his distance.

Personally instructed by Megatron to take care of the new addition to the Decepticon ranks, Shockwave began the reconstruction of Soundwave’s body at once. He looked like his old self before, but slimmer in the shoulders and not so boxy. He looked like a new mech, and seemed to better fit into this smaller, slimmer body than he had his last one.

But he was still naïve and young. Hard working and smart, no doubt about it; but Megatron had his reasons for wanting to protect the surveillance officer.

Ratbat had warmed up to Shockwave after he had rebuilt Soundwave from next to nothing. Never before, however, had Ratbat stayed with Shockwave when Soundwave was available.

“Understood,” Soundwave said softly, his expression hidden behind his facemask. It was retractable, but he only ever took it off for refueling.

“It’s not a bad thing. Merely an observation.”

Soundwave looked up at Shockwave, tilting his head. He had questions, lots of them, as he was designed to obtain information and process it at his own speed. But still…

“Query; why?” He absorbed himself in the code scrolling by on the screens as Shockwave gave another breathless laugh.

“Quite a broad question, Soundwave. Care to specify?” The shifter had an inkling as to what Soundwave would be asking – after all, now that he had a proper carrier body as opposed to Earth junk thrown together, it made sense that his body would need things before he knew how to give them.

“Observation; feeling within spark. Burning, aching. At first infrequent. Now, more frequent. Soundwave; apprehensive,” the mech replied.

Shockwave thought it over, idly watching as Ratbat watch him. Eventually he stopped giving the symbiote all the attention and turned his focus to Soundwave. “The feeling is natural, Soundwave, especially for a mech of your caliber. To create Ratbat and Laserbeak, you used a fragment of the AllSpark itself to do so, correct? So they have their own spark. But you were in the wrong body type before. Now that sensation you’re feeling in your spark is natural for someone of your model. It simply means that you’re ready to create another symbiote.”

Had he a mouth, Shockwave would have smiled. As it was, he only changed his tone slightly, to evoke a feeling of empathy. “You may have more control over it this time. But, as an offering, I have something to show you.”

Soundwave paused the coding, unhooking one end of the data cable so it wouldn’t stream in his absence. Standing, he followed his superior officer down the hallway, to Shockwave’s personal labs.

It wasn’t very impressive, but it was a military base. Scientific ventures were at the bottom of everyone’s priority list. There were a few flat, stainless steel tables that had been imported from Earth. They could have been used to assemble cars, they were so large; but here, they were used to assemble symbiotes.

In the middle table, surrounded by tools of various shapes and sizes and data charts and data pads, lay something under a white sheet. Shockwave beckoned Soundwave closer.

Laserbeak and Ratbat were both curious, but unnerved to be in a cold and sterile place such as the labs. Ratbat fluttered closer to Soundwave, tucking himself neatly on Soundwave’s shoulder. They watched with bated breath as Shockwave revealed what rested under the tarp.

A long, lithe feline creature lay on the table. The Decepticon insignia stood proudly on the feline’s grey shoulders. She had red optics, the same shade as Soundwave’s, and a long, flexible tail that was made of many minute pieces of armor, similar to Shockwave’s limbs. Her claws here black, as were her paws, though her stomach, shoulders, and hips were a shade lighter, more of a grey than a black.

“May I present to you, Soundwave…Ravage.” Shockwave didn’t touch the creature with any warmth, merely a clinical claw. “She has been my pet project, for lack of a better word, for some time now. Ever since you properly exhibited the ability to create more sparks without bonding, I knew you would need a way to channel that energy. Ravage is yours to command, once her spark chamber is full.”

Ratbat squeaked and dove forward, flying in circles above his sister. _Like us, Master?_

 _Nature, similar. Soundwave; understands._ The blue and gold mech looked over at Shockwave with a hint of gratitude in his visor. “Query; other symbiotes to be made?”

The scientist shook his head, folding the tarp meticulously. Ratbat landed back on him, but this time chose to alight on his sensory horns. “Soundwave…” he merely replied, noting his patience was growing thin.

“Ratbat; return.” _Best not to test boundries today. Another time._ The keytar flew back to his master, settling on his shoulder.

“As I was saying, Soundwave, it is a possibility. It simply depends on how strong of a spark you have. And I mean that literally, for it is your spark that is breaking apart to make these new mechs and femmes,” he explains. He reaches between Ravage’s limp forelegs, effortlessly opening a chamber there.

Soundwave feels a surge of hot protection and almost steps closer to the scientist to protect Ravage’s nonexistent spark. Shockwave, for his part, merely huffed in amusement. “Relax, Soundwave. Her chamber is easy to open now, simply because she is not online. When she has her own spark, it will seal shut, only to be opened by her or you. Have no fear, Soundwave. She will be as sturdy as your other two operatives.”

The mech in question nods, feeling a pulling in his spark, but not quite enough to drive him to want to get rid of the feeling.

“When the time comes, Soundwave,” Shockwave continues, “You’ll know what to do. Until then, she’s in good servos. Let us resume our work?” He turned expectantly toward the door, watching Soundwave out of the corner of his optic.

Soundwave nods, and leaves the labs in favor of finishing coding the monitor. He had more than ample to think about for now.

* * *

 

The next few megacycles consisted of playing keep up with Megatron’s decisions from Earth, managing Ultra Magnus’ questions and inquiries, and aiding Soundwave in making sure the code was written correctly for the second monitoring system. All that was left by this point was the signal scrambler that would only allow Decepticons to find its frequency.

Soundwave’s spark grew hotter and hotter every day, pulsing and pulling him from his station more than once. He was restless, as was usual of mechs like Soundwave. At least, that was the impression Shockwave garnered from his reading. Having symbiotes was a rare trait, used even less since the Great War. Mechs distrusted others who had their own… _personal_ guard system.

It wasn’t taboo, but it certainly wasn’t the norm.

Shockwave couldn’t blame them, but it was completely unreasonable to think Soundwave would use them for his own personal gain. The mech was loyal to Megatron, loyal to the Decepticons; and in turn, his symbiotes were loyal as well. It was simple.

He supposed it was inevitable that Soundwave would have to give his spark over to Ravage – he just didn’t expect it to be when he was in the middle of a call with Magnus. When he powered down the monitor and switched back, catching Ratbat on his claw as was now the norm, he didn’t expect to see Soundwave leading a very online, very _protective_ Ravage through the control room.

The panther sniffed around the ground, audios pricked forward to catch even the slightest movement. Her body was stiff, alert, and low to the ground, ready to pounce at anything that so much as moved. Her head jerked up as Shockwave took in an audible breath, a growl building her vocalizer.

“Soundwave…I see it went well,” he replied, shock clear in his vocalizer. “Imagine that…”

“Ravage; protective. Healthy. Soundwave; pleased.” Ravage positively _purred_ at her Master’s approval, but remained suspicious of Shockwave. She took a step in front of Soundwave, her tail curling around the sound system’s leg.

 _Shockwave; ally. Ravage; respect,_ Soundwave chided, probing into the newly formed symbiotic link.

Ravage, built to be more instinctual in her decisions, replied with a pulse of _trust/love/acceptance/protection._

“That is excellent news, Soundwave. When Lord Megatron next calls, perhaps you can give him the news. A new youngling such as this is both beneficial to our cause, and to the future of Cybertron,” Shockwave replies.

The two mechs walk back to what had become Soundwave’s unofficial station, as it was where the communications expert spent most of his time. Ravage curled at his feet, out of the way and alert, already scanning the area for entrances and exits, and other things that could capture her attention. Soundwave petted her gently, before resuming his work on the code. “Understood, Shockwave. Will do.”

Shockwave would have continued the conversation had it not been for the small ping his systems gave, indicating someone wanted to speak with him on his Decepticon frequency.

Interesting. Though it could only be a handful of mechs if they weren’t using the monitor system like they would have for an official call. Shockwave did not take kindly to meaningless chatter, but he had a soft spot for this particular caller.

He silently stood, putting his servo close to Soundwave’s shoulder. Ratbat obediently sashayed off, nuzzling his Master’s golden chevron obediently. “Farewell, Soundwave. I trust you can finish the coding for yourself. I, however, need some recharge. All that changing has worn me down,” Shockwave sighed, turning around.

Soundwave nodded, getting deeper into the trickier part of coding the monitor. The moment Shockwave was gone, Ravage was up and moving, sniffing out the only room she had seen thus far. She was a curious creature; and that was a feature that Soundwave felt an unprecedented appreciation for. Wordlessly, he instructed Ratbat to watch over his sister in her explorations. Laserbeak would stay with him, as always.

 Meanwhile, Shockwave felt the pinging growing more anxious. Had he a mouth, Shockwave would have smirked.

He answered the desperate signal once he was closed in his quarters. //Patience has never been your strong suit, has it love? Don’t worry, you have me all to yourself tonight…yes, I’ve missed you too.//

He settled down on his berth with a cube of energon in his claws, his optic halving in relaxation. Selfish rewards for a selfless commitment for a day in, day out grind.

//Don’t you worry your pretty little head, I’m fine. I don’t know when we can see each other again…hopefully sooner rather than later. I’m almost done with my screen, love. It will be soon…I know, I know…I love you too.//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of these characters.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time writing smut in a long time; first time writing smut for these characters at all. Please do tell me how I did; I look forward to the feedback! :)

Back on Earth, the Elite Guard’s ship maintained its safe distance from any and all organic matter. Jazz just wished that “organic matter” counted thoughts as well.

The ninja rested in his bunk, visor offline as he thought over the fight he had had with Prowl. It was stupid to be fighting over something as simple as a careless remark on behalf of Lockdown, but Jazz found himself excessively angry over the small gesture. He was not a mech to let things get under his plating so easily; normally meditation did the trick to chase bad energy away.

This just wouldn’t leave.

No matter how hard he tried, he kept coming back to those simple, hated words.

 _I may be on the dark side, but I’m not the one who has neglected the Light._ Light, with a capital L. A reference to the pact made between the ninjas and the Knights in the golden days of Cybertron.

 _Forgive me Master, for I have sinned,_ Jazz thought quietly. The words were something he had thought about many times, but had never projected, nor even said aloud. He knew joining the Elite Guard, the very people responsible for the fracture of Cybertron, was the ultimate betrayal. Oil Slick and Lockdown were among those who hated what he had done in the first place.

But he had good reasons for joining the Autobots. For morality, at the very least…but that seemed to be a stretch, even for him.

 _Morality_ would have been to join with his brothers on the faction that held closest to their beliefs. Not for the side that would ultimately win the war, due to power and military strategists that the orphaned – for that’s what they truly were, orphaned – Knights lacked. _Morality_ would have been to come to his Master’s aid when the dojo was attacked, instead of letting his kind pay the price for his Master’s reluctance to join the war. _Morality_ would have been not turning his back on everything he had worked for.

And, even though this wasn’t explicitly morals, simple selflessness would have dictated that he didn’t drag Prowl into his mess as well.

That was another point against joining the Autobots. Prowl had been on his own spiritual journey when the dojo had been ravaged. The gold and black ninjabot had no clue where the rest of the ninja’s had gone, much less if they were even still online.

Jazz had found him, and convinced him to join the Autobots. Prowl was about to refuse, having argued with him that he had already found Lockdown and Oil Slick elsewhere in the universe, but then the space bridge team with Optimus Prime had arrived, and destroyed his ship. The bot had had no choice in joining his factions.

Jazz still partially blamed himself.

The Autobots offered protection…but so did the Decepticons. He had no doubt that he would be with like-minded people if he joined the Decepticons, but the Autobots were well liked throughout Cybertron, especially since winning the war.

In the end, it was all about popularity. Jazz had always been a people pleaser, someone to make friends and enemies and dance his way through life with a style all his own. Maybe he had bought into the Autobot ranks. Maybe he was just as much a sellout as Yoketron had been rumored to be.

Anything for his own personal gain.

He saw why Prowl was so mad at him. He had never put it in perspective like this before, but when it was all lined up, so nice and neat, it wasn’t hard to see why he was viewed as a traitor.

_But I can’t just leave the Autobots, especially not with Sentinel Prime in charge. He’s got me on such a tight leash it’s a wonder I can even think about Decepticons. There’s nothing for me here…_

Except Prowl, but Prowl had been contemplating desertion since he joined the team. Jazz couldn’t count Prowl as an excuse to stay on the Autobot side. And that was what Prowl hated.

“Mister Jazz Sir! We’ve been looking for you!”

His thoughts were interrupted by Jetfire and Jetstorm’s arrival outside his quarters door. They didn’t try to come in, merely knocking on the metal door. Jazz onlined his visor, hopping out of his berth. “Oh you have, have you?”

The twin’s English had gotten better during the time they had been on Earth, but they still had some things to work on. He opened his door, leaning against the wall next to his door.

“Yes, we have been waiting for very long time!” Jetstorm replied, bouncing on his thrusters.

“We didn’t want to be bothering you –”

“But we really wanted to be practicing –”

“Making the spar!”

“And we wanted back the feed!”

“So please help us!”

Jazz chuckled in amusement, watching the two younger mechs bounce in excitement. “Alright, alright, cool down, ya dig? I’ll be out in a nanoclick, just gotta wrap somethin’ up real fast.”

They nod and run off, talking animatedly among themselves.

The ninjabot turns from the hallway, a smile still on his face. The younglings. Those two would be old enough to be fledglings if they were to be in the Knight’s program. And they _were_ technically on the Decepticon – and therefore Knights – list, thanks to them being Starscream’s children. Technically.

Not really.

But technically.

Still, he made sure to put a patch through to Prowl, nudging him softly through the comm. //Hey, it’s me. When you get this, meet at the old spot. You know the one.//

With that done, he walked out of his room to go meet the real reason he was still on the Autobot side; the twins.

* * *

When he arrived, the sky was as golden as Prowl’s armor. The other ninjabot stood silently, one servo resting on a knot in the old oak tree trunk. That tree was where Prowl and Jazz came to be by themselves – either together, or apart. Jazz stepped up to the far side of the tree, putting his servo gently over Prowl’s, the two of them with interlocking digits over the swollen tree.

Prowl was the first to speak. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking up at sky. He guessed Jazz had come here to finalize his argument, and Prowl wanted more than anything to put it behind the two of them. “I didn’t mean to accuse you of the things I did. And I didn’t mean to make it seem like I was a deserter, but…I had been giving it some thought and I…” Words were hard to come by to explain exactly what had prompted his abrupt change in philosophy.

Jazz shaking his head, however, brought Prowl out of his stuttered explanation. “I’m the one that should be apologizin’. I thought I knew what I was doin’ when I joined the Bots, and maybe I should have thought it through…” He gave Prowl’s servo a soft squeeze, before swinging forward so he could look at his lover, visor to visor. Their hands were still linked behind the tree, becoming the fulcrum for Jazz’s swing.

“I’m sorry. I’m in the wrong here. I shouldn’t have pressured you to join in the first place…and if you wanna switch, you can,” Jazz says softly, as if it were that simple. He knew it wasn’t, and Prowl’s glance told him that the other mech wasn’t delusional either. They both knew what was at stake.

“If I could take you to where they were, I would.”

“But you still wouldn’t stay with me.”

“Not yet, no. I…I can’t leave. Not yet.”

Prowl sighed, but didn’t let go of Jazz’s servo. Behind them, the sun hovered closer to the horizon, with the pale stars and moon slowly emerging above. Prowl thought back to the comparison he had made when he had tried to meditate away his problems.

Jazz was the sun; he was the moon.

As effortlessly as those two, star and moon, came together in the sky, the two bots beneath them could come together. A celestial dance, balance between bright and loud and dark and quiet. Prowl swung forward, meeting Jazz halfway. It was the first time he had set optics on his partner for a long time.

He brought his servo up to cup Jazz’s cheek, smiling sadly up at him. “Why?” he whispered.

“The little ones,” Jazz says softly, gratefully leaning into Prowl’s touch. “I can’t leave them behind in Sentinel’s grasp.”

“The twins?” Prowl asks, taken aback. “What do you mean, you…you want to take them under your wing?”

“Prowl,” Jazz whispered, taking Prowl’s wrist in his hand gently. “They are about the age one would be to become a fledgling. If we are to do this properly, I can’t let them become something else entirely, ya dig? It’s for the best, bro.”

Prowl slowly nods, feeling the colder wind blow from the night sky. Another night upon them. He found himself nodding slowly, pulling Jazz closer. He didn’t want to care about anything else other than his Jazz. “For what it’s worth, I forgive you,” he whispered.

The moment their lips touched brought about the peace they each had been searching for, unknowingly, since their fight. Each drew the other closer, deepening the kiss and stroking across wires with soft moans.

Prowl and Jazz had a simple dynamic, developed over the stellar cycles of knowing each other. Jazz teased his lover through the orns via comms and gentle physical touches. When it got down to the actual act, it was he that topped. But Prowl took control in everything in between. He set the limits for when the teasing got too much, and he selfishly extracted his revenge on the lithe mech.

Today, however, Prowl felt himself stopped by Jazz’s lips on his neck. A soft moan escaped the trembling ninja, and he let his hand slide from the knot on the side of the tree. “J-Jazz?”

“Allow me to apologize, love,” he murmured softly, sucking on a wire. “With everythin’ I got. You already heard how I feel; now I wanna make ya feel good.”

Prowl tried to push Jazz back, but he was not to be deterred. Talented white fingers dug into pressure points on black and gold armor while the sky above them streaked with stars. The two slowly turned so the motorcycle rested against the tree, pinned between warm metal and rough wood.

Jazz kissed and licked his way down Prowl’s neck, his fingers teasing along his hips gently. He didn’t hurry, only worked to bring Prowl to a delicate overload. He wanted to worship his lover, to show him how beautiful Jazz thought he was, to show him how much he loved him.

Prowl felt these fluctuations and desires in Jazz’s EM field and expanded his own to brush against Jazz in a show of trust and lust.

“Please,” Jazz murmured, his servos now moving to Prowl’s hotspots – his hips, right underneath his bumper, and the back of his neck. He smiled as he felt Prowl’s moan and hips rocking against his own. “That’s it…lemme make ya feel good…”

“Jazz,” Prowl sighed, breathless and desperate. He wanted his mate to hurry up and get to the good part, but when Jazz wanted to draw something out, he _definitely_ knew how.

Jazz just smirked, continuing to tease and stroke his lover into a helpless quivering mass of ninjabot. He fiddled with all his lover’s sweetspots, kissing and suckling on Prowl’s chevron points. He could feel Prowl’s heated panel against his thigh, and brought his servo down to cup the hot black and gold metal. “Open for me, love…”

He purred at Prowl’s obedience, and crooked a finger inside his lover’s valve. His other servo cupped Prowl’s lower back struts, gently rubbing against his wires to encourage him to relax. “I love ya, Prowl…I love ya so much…” he croons, rubbing against Prowl’s ceiling node.

Prowl, for the most part, was beyond words, merely clinging to his lover and hoping that he got his overload soon. The sheer amount of love flowing from Jazz’s EM field was almost too much for the younger bot to handle, and he kissed him hungrily to urge him to move faster. He tightened down on Jazz’s finger, uncertain if Jazz intended for just fingers or if he would go all the way.

Together, lying under the skies as they eclipsed to stars, the two ninjas found what had once been thought to be lost. Prowl felt it when Jazz entered him for the first time in too long. Jazz felt it when Prowl whispered his reciprocated love.

They both felt it when they climaxed together under the stars. Panting in the aftermath, limp and tangled together, Prowl and Jazz curled in closer, pressing reverent kisses to heated armor.

Laying together, wandering servos finally stilled, the pair enjoyed each other’s presence. When the pressing question was posed once more, the moon hushed his sun, taking him closer in arms black as night. Neither knew what to do; but that was somehow acceptable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of these characters.


	6. Chapter 5

Two weeks had come and gone since Bumblebee’s capture. Two weeks of living underground, in stunningly beautiful mines that seemed to never end. Two weeks of being under Megatron – or Blitzwing’s – watch near constantly.

It had been the strangest two weeks of Bumblebee’s life.

Megatron had lived up to his word; the warlord never forced himself on Bee in any way, but he never lost his status as unequivocal leader of the Decepticons. Bee wasn’t allowed to explore the mines by himself, which had at first rankled the young Autobot. Megatron talked all that slag about not wanting to hurt him, and yet he wouldn’t let him up to the surface for any form of escape.

So the little bug snuck away one night, in a feat he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to pull off again. Somehow he made it out of the berth he shared with the warlord, transforming and driving through a tunnel he was sure led to the surface. It went through many twists and turns, the tracks eventually fading away into nothing as the tunnel came to an end. Disgruntled, Bee turned around, and attempted to go through yet another tunnel.

A few hours of this passed before Bumblebee realized that he was hopelessly lost. He had thought he knew where he was going, but that was before he got a small dose of vertigo – was he even driving up towards the surface anymore? He eventually transformed, leaning against a wall and trying to catch his breath.

How long did he have until morning? What would he do when Megatron realized he was gone? This plan would have only worked if he had found a way out, back to his friends; trapped here was a guarantee to incur the Decepticons’ wrath.

Again, he found himself cowering in the dark corners of the mine, plating dirty and thoroughly exhausted. The air had gotten sharply cooler in the next two weeks, but that was only a guestimate of the surface world. Down here in the mines, closer to the Earth’s core, it was always warm. Normally he had no problem cooling down, but he guessed he had gone further into the mines than he had thought, because he wasn’t cooling down at all.

Somewhere along the line, he must have passed out, because the next thing he remembered was hearing a deep rumble from above him and blearily sitting up from his position sprawled on the mine floor.

(Though he would later deny it, he brushed off the sound at first, because he thought it was just Megatron trying to wake him up.)

He looked up, hearing the sound again, as his spark pulsed hotly in fear. He couldn’t tell if it was coming from beneath him or above him, but he knew he wasn’t in a safe place when he saw and felt small rocks shifting and falling all around him.

_Cave in._

The next thing he remembered was a large servo yanking him out of his unintentional trap, before he was tucked against a cold chassis and blasted out of the mine. When he dared to look up against the rush of wind, he saw none other than Blitzwing.

He tried to forgive himself for the small voice that knew him being “recaptured” – really, he was saved – was a good thing.

They arrived back in the main area of the compound, where Megatron, Black Arachnia, and Lugnut stood waiting. Embarrassment flooded Bee’s frame as Blitzwing landed, setting the Autobot down over the Decepticon insignia on the floor. Obediently, the German mech backed up, leaving Bee virtually defenseless.

The smaller mech looked up at Megatron, suddenly feeling foolish. Already, levels higher from where he had been, he found that he could cool himself off much more efficiently than he had been able to previously. Dirt smudges covered his plating, marring the bright yellow shine. He stood, almost trembling, in the face of so much disappointment and stupidity. It was a position he had found himself in multiple times at the Autobot base, but…that had been among friends.

Not among enemies. Or, whatever the Decepticons were at this point.

It scared him to think of his uncertainty.

“Now,” Megatron began, his voice commanding attention from everyone in the room. “Do you understand why you are not to leave without supervision? These mines are dangerous and unstable. The humans that made them abandoned them shortly thereafter; they’re only half formed at best. You’re lucky Blitzwing was still here, or else none of us would have been able to get to you in time.”

While his words were neutral, the message was still clear. It was only by luck’s will that Bee had survived his predicament.

“B-but what about her? She’s small, she could have gotten me,” Bee insists, pointing to Black Arachnia.

The femme, taken aback at the boldness of the Autobot, bared her fangs and hissed lowly, only to cut off the sound at Megatron’s glare.

“Black Arachnia has better things to do than retrieval of a young mech who cannot listen for his own safety. And where you were in the mines was too small for Lugnut and I to get to you,” Megatron counters, half his attention still on the femme who had dared to step out of line. When it was clear she had gotten the message, he turned his gaze fully back to Bumblebee.

“You disobeyed, Bumblebee. And we could have lost you. I could have lost you. Do you see now why the rules stand?” the warlord implores, kneeling on one knee to get closer to Bumblebee’s height.

The young Autobot nods, optics downcast. He felt utterly humiliated at the turn of events, and could only speculate why Megatron had defended him in the face of Black Arachnia’s anger. “Yes, Sir, I understand,” he muttered.

Megatron then nodded, took Bumblebee’s servo, and led him back to the leader’s washracks to once again clean him. Never again did Bumblebee try to make a break for it.

He had learned his lesson.

* * *

 

A few days later, he had been driving within the mines, just to give himself something to do. He wouldn’t do well being cooped up inside; for the sake of anyone around him, or for himself, Bumblebee needed to be kept as busy as possible.

Black Arachnia followed him, making sure he stayed in the wide and secure tunnels while she crawled above him in her alt mode.

Until he decided it had been a good idea to race.

Suddenly taking off – albeit, back in the direction they had come, so the femme wasn’t too worried – Bumblebee sped off, laughing as he heard the delicate pin pricks of the thin spider legs on the rocks fade away. He had surpassed her once more, and it made him smile.

When he got back to the main area of the compound, he transformed, walking while cheering for his minor victory. Granted, he never told her exactly where the finish line was, but it had given him an excuse to push 100mph for the first time in a long while, and the rush of speed had done wonders for his attitude.

While he was celebrating, however, he wasn’t watching where he was going, and ran right into none other than Lugnut.

Immediately fearing for the worst, Bumblebee jumped away from the one optic’d mech, unsure of what to do. Would Lugnut tell on him for running from Bee’s appointed supervision? But it was a race! Albeit an unannounced one, but still a race!

What happened instead, however, shocked both Bee and the recently arrived Black Arachnia.

Lugnut fell to his knees, praising the younger mech in that normally obnoxious voice of his. “ _ESTEEMED_ MATE OF THE _GLORIOUS_ LORD MEGATRON! PLEASE FORGIVE ME FOR STANDING IN YOUR WAY! _PARDON_ ME, MY _MAGNIFICENT_ MASTER! HOW MAY I SERVE YOU?”

He continued to ramble on, much to the discomfort of Bumblebee. “U-uh…Lugnut? What are you talking about?” he asked, but his vocalizer was much too soft to be heard over the loud, grating tones of the purple plane.

Black Arachnia, meanwhile, was horrified. She yanked Lugnut up from his kneeling position, a feat she only managed due to her disproportionate strength, thanks to her organic half. “Shut up you blubbering idiot, you’re making a fool of yourself!”

“B-BUT NOT FOR THE _MATE_ OF THE _GLORIOUS LORD MEGATRON_!”

“Lugnut, wha–”

“Lugnut.” The fourth voice to join them, dark and familiar, was laced with an emotion Bumblebee couldn’t identify. “I don’t recall asking you to grovel at Bumblebee’s peds. Get up and do your work.”

The massive seeker stood, torn between choosing his alliance to Bumblebee or to Megatron – should he listen to Megatron, he wouldn’t give up his possible place as a Sir – since Starscream would undoubtedly be the Chancellor. But if he listened to Bumblebee – as in, refuted Megatron’s orders by not obeying, then it would guarantee his placement as the mate of a Sir.

But…Bumblebee hadn’t yet taken his place as Megatron’s mate, so refusing Megatron would be the ultimate sign of disrespect…

Lugnut pretended not to notice Black Arachnia’s silent seething as he obeyed his rightful Master.

“Y-YES, _GLORIOUS_ LORD MEGATRON!” he replied, before continuing on his path. Black Arachnia looked up at Megatron, biting back a hiss of irritation and embarrassment at Lugnut’s behavior.

“I apologize, Lord Megatron. I didn’t mean– ”

“What was he talking about, calling me his Master?” Bee interrupts, optics narrowed in confusion. “That’s normally what he calls you…I mean, I knew he had a few circuits scrambled, but mistaking me for you?” The younger Autobot snorted as Black Arachnia and Megatron looked down at him. The warlord didn’t seem as amused as the Autobot was – in fact, he seemed a cross between anger and frustration; and was that a bit of jealousy?

“Bee. Follow me, please,” Megatron hissed between gritted denta, though his tone didn’t carry malice towards the little yellow bot. “Black Arachnia, you are dismissed.”

The spider femme bowed accordingly, before transforming and walking away, her spider legs delicately moving through the air, allowing her to effortlessly creep up the tunnel and continue her journey towards where Lugnut had gone.

She wasn’t one to let things lie too easily. Megatron almost pitied the conversation he knew the two warriors would have.

Almost.

It was because of the incompetence and oversight of those two warriors that led him to having this conversation much too early for his tastes. So they could make each other suffer as much as they wanted – he had his own conversation to have.

As he turned back toward the tunnel leading to his quarters, Megatron heard Bumblebee slowly begin to follow him, pedsteps just a bit too scared for now. When the tunnels grew darker, however familiar they were, the Autobot skittered a bit closer, enough that his EM field brushed against Megatron’s.

It was only after weeks of conditioning that the warlord was able to stop the satisfied purr from rising within his chest. Conditioning and no small amount of nervousness.

This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have so early. And once he began to tell the Autobot that, it was as if he couldn’t stop.

“I must…apologize, for Lugnut’s actions today. He’s not normally so…expressive, shall we say, to anyone but me. I fear his thoughts and perceived notions of the current circumstances have led him astray. He wasn’t within his rights to address you as such,” he began, lacing his digits behind his back.

Bumblebee moved from the doorway to sit on the berth, looking up at the pacing warlord with a nervous glance.

“And I fear, due to his actions, that you have questions. Questions that I’m not sure I want to give the answers to…but I promised to be honest with you – within reason – and this is part of my promise to you. I cannot allow any misconception about his words to cloud your judgment of me, and while I sincerely hope that your time here has not been as awful as I’m sure you believed it would be, I’m not sure I could keep you from perceiving this information as you will.” He was speaking faster now, his normally calm voice betraying his anxiety.

The younger mech leaned back on the berth, watching the warlord talk on, talking in circles it seemed. And as he spoke in circles, he moved in circles, shoulders rigid and hands tightly clasped behind his back as he paced in front of the berth. “Megatron, I can’t understand you. Can you please, just…calm down? Sit, or something? You’re making me nervous.”

Without stopping his speech, Megatron sat beside the smaller mech, continuing on in his needless apologies and explanations of things Bee didn’t care to understand. Stuff about Knights, Codes of Honor, and mates – all things he thought were made up. Just parts of history that were as uncertain as myth.

What did capture Bumblebee’s attention, however, was how quickly Megatron listened to his demand. Curiously, Bee reached out and touched Megatron’s servo, putting his much smaller servo over the tightly clenched fist.

Megatron’s words slipped away into nothing as he looked at the bright yellow servo, in direct contrast to his black and gunmetal grey plating.

“…wanna try to say it a bit slower?” Bee asked gently, keeping his hand still, lightly resting on Megatron’s servo. He was scared of his bold move and what repercussions it might have, but he knew he had to do something to stop the rambling.

“…I’m afraid I don’t have much to say. Other than he was out of line.”

“And you have said that. Multiple times.” Bee smiled a shy smile, genuine though. “And if that’s it…I don’t think you have anything else to say. Correct?”

Megatron takes some resolve from Bee’s smile, and allows himself to take a steadying breath. “No, Bumblebee. That is not correct. I…did you hear what I was saying earlier, about the Knights?”

Bee blinks and shakes his head, almost taking his servo away from Megatron’s grasp. The further the distance between his body and the warlord’s when the warlord eventually lost his temper, the better. But before he could move, Megatron trapped his servo between his, looking into the smaller mech’s optics.

“It’s all true. I…I speak from personal experience. The Knights are all but dead now, thanks to your Magnus. Your team mate from the Ninjas…he knew of this too. He had his own battles to face, but only as an associate of the Knights. He never was one. And neither was his partner, Jazz.”

Bee felt his spark stutter to an almost complete stop. Jazz and Prowl?! They were with the Decepticons? Had been partners with them?!

“There is only one Knight left who knows of the proper teachings of Knighthood. His training was cut off before he could be formally inducted, however, due to an attack from the Magnus.” Megatron steeled his voice and resolve, before continuing his story. “He is the only one with the proper training to become Head Knight, and to lead the Knights out of the darkness in which they were forced by the Magnus. But he can only do that with a proper mate. He needed someone who could be taught the proper ways of being a Knight…what it means to be a fair and equal leader. Someone who didn’t buy into the old ways, and could still be taught. He needed that with a complimentary mate.”

Megatron looked up at Bumblebee, softly concluding. “He is me. And that ideal mate is you.”

Before Bumblebee could even respond, the warlord left the room in a flash of grey, leaving Bumblebee stunned in his wake.

* * *

 Bumblebee sat in silence for a few moments, thinking it all over.

Megatron hadn’t gone against his promise in the beginning. He had treated Bumblebee fairly in his time there, and – as he remembered from his time in the tunnels – he only enforced rules when they were for his own safety. He didn’t force himself on Bee, though he could have at any time, and Bee felt…safe, around him.

Relatively speaking, he could be a much worse predicament. And Megatron had taken the time to explain – albeit a bit rushed – but to explain why he had chosen the racer; a question that had haunted Bee since he was first captured.

How he felt about this new information…he did not know.

* * *

Later that night, Bumblebee finds himself recharging alone. It seemed the fear of rejection that had made Megatron leave had kept him away for longer than just the moments after his revelation.

Bumblebee almost hoped for a night alone, but naturally fate would not allow him that small amount. The warlord returned, cautiously, searching to see if Bee was in fact in recharge. The racer feigned recharge, and soon the warlord entered, sliding into the berth with a soft sigh.

Both lost in the realm of recharge, Bee and Megatron unconsciously sought out comfort. The smaller mech pressed himself against broad gunmetal grey chest plates, twin sighs of pleasure escaping. It would take a while longer, but they were already making progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of these characters.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT DEAD!!!

Back in the factory, Optimus sat before the terminal in the main room. The large orange screen flicked through file after file, none of them revealing any new information. His search queries changed details, wording, phrasing; exchanging one glyph for another, over and over again. Nothing he searched in the modern databases helped him to understand anything new about the Great War.

Of course, he could always rewatch his old holovids. Try to see if hidden details were lying within the footage, or the documents used as evidence. To try and understand what Ratchet could have meant when he said it was for the best that Bumblebee was taken.

“I just don’t understand,” the Prime mumbled to himself, logging out of the terminal after several hours worth of work. He stands, joints cracking after working in the same position for so long, and walked down the hallway. The late afternoon sun trickled through the broken glass in the factory, painting the orange factory walls a lovely shade of gold.

The base was empty. Prowl normally left early in the morning, but the ninjabot always left his comm. link on. Bulkhead and Ratchet had left for patrol, and Sari’s camp had not yet ended. Even the professor was busy in his tower, inventing new consumer goods and editing glitches out of existing ones. The young Prime truly was by himself.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like being alone, it was simply that it made him more than a little unnerved. He liked being able to say that he connected with his team as much on missions as he did in their down time, but since Bee’s capture…they had been as distant as the cycle they’d picked Prowl up on that asteroid.

As he rounds the corner, his thoughts filled with questions and yearnings for the past, he found himself walking into Ratchet’s office. He doesn’t know why he did this, after all there was no sense in him being here. Half of the equipment he didn’t know what it did, and though all of the cabinets were labelled rather clearly, he felt lost.

He turns to leave, only to pause. In such an orderly space, a stack of data pads sitting out in plain sight was boldy out of place.

Optimus approaches, putting his servo over the unactivated pads. They’re cold, meaning they’d been left out for a while, and he picks up the one on top, powering it up. The first thing he notices is that they’re exceptionally old. The glyphs used there were several generations out of date, and while it wasn’t like reading a foreign language, it did feel antiquated. Like that Shakespeare fellow Sari complained about, when the tutor bot had English lessons planned for her.

Same language, different wording.

Prime takes a seat on the medical berth, scrolling through the pad in his hands. This data pad was marked 1 of 12, and looking back at the stack, he sees eleven more waiting for him. This wasn’t a sloppy mistake on Ratchet’s behalf; this was purposeful.

This data pad in particular seemed to be concerning politics leading up to the Great War. The Knights, fabled mythological heroes, and the insurgence of the followers of Primus, a religious group that had formed almost overnight. It was near ancient history, even as far as Cybertronians were concerned. These tales dated back through generations and generations, myths designed to explain factions in modern society. Of course, the places of worship and legacy of the Primes lent itself towards believing half of the material written in the pad. Optimus himself knew more than anything, that some of this was rooted in fact. Artefacts had been recovered that suggested these events had actually taken place, although there was nothing beyond that to suggest otherwise.

He finishes that one, having covered the foundation of the two fundamental groups that would lead to the Great War further down the line. The next pad picked up where the previous one had left off. In effect, these were the written versions of a history Optimus had never had the chance to accurately explore.

Curiously enough, the author of the pieces was redacted, indicating some measure of censorship had affected the author and data pads. (But not enough to warrant them not being published.)

Prime sits there for several more clicks, scouring the words with the tenacity he reserved only for history. He was a firm believer that history would repeat itself, that the Great War was not the last that would be seen of the Decepticons in such large numbers and brutal forces.

He’s enthralled. He’d never seen this amount of detail put into what he had previously thought to be nothing but myth. It’s new. It’s different. It’s answers.

Ten pads deep into his research, Optimus doesn’t hear the silent arrival of Ratchet, sliding one more data pad under the remaining two data pads.

The old medic watches the back of Prime’s frame, seeing how he reacted to the knowledge. His posture evoked feelings of empathy towards the material, of acceptance. Ratchet was sure Optimus would be taking it – what was the human phrase for it; “with a grain of salt” – but any amount of education was a step in the right direction.

As he leaves, Ratchet nearly runs into Prowl.

The motorcycle stands there, arms crossed over his chassis, his mouth set in a suspicious, wry expression. Due to the proximity to the still reading and oblivious Prime in the next room, Prowl couldn’t voice his concerns, but it was obvious in how he regarded Ratchet.

 _You’re moving too fast for him. You’ll overwhelm him. You’re doing the wrong thing; rather, the right thing, at the wrong time._ If Prowl could have sent these thoughts to Ratchet, he definitely would have. As it was, he could only hope Ratchet understood his position on the matter.

Silently, the medic turns away from Prowl, walking further down the hallway. He understood Prowl’s position just fine.

But Prowl didn’t understand the immediacy with which this needed to be put into motion.

* * *

Megatron stood before his soldiers, digits working over the control panel for the newly finished space bridge. Black Arachnia, Lugnut, and the newly returned Oil Slick all stand, waiting for the bridge to open. They were being sent to the Paz moon base to assist Shockwave and Soundwave with their preparations, and they all were excited.

A peaceful departure from this wretched world so they could finally focus on what was important. Black Arachnia stood away from Lugnut, still steaming from their altercation earlier. And Megatron understood full well.

Black Arachnia was much more level headed and would, definitely, be a better Sir to have at his side. Lugnut’s loyalty to Megatron, however, drove a wedge between Black Arachnia’s ability to be recognized as a Sir; her independent streak stood out against her. Lugnut did not take orders from Starscream, and the two would be a toxic match; but putting Black Arachnia in that position would be indefinitely worse. The both of them could not be Sirs, as that went against the purposeful way the society had been crafted. It was an issue that the two of them would have to come together to fix, Megatron could not intervene.

But if it affected their ability to work, he’d be rather displeased and disappointed in them.

“My liege?” Shockwave gently interrupted via the video feed. The warlord looks up at him, meeting the one optic’d mech’s gaze evently.

“Ah, yes, of course. Are you ready to receive them?” Megatron asks, his servo resting on the lever that would activate the bridge.

“Yes, my liege.” On Shockwave’s end of the communication, a greenish white light appeared, reflecting off the dark purple mech’s coloring.

Megatron opens his portal as well, the bright portal lightening up the entirety of the cave. The three Decepticons walk through, already knowing what would be expected of them on the other side. The warlord watches as each of the three appear in the background of the video feed.

“Ah, perfect. Soundwave will show you where your quarters are,” Shockwave explains to the newly arrived Cons. The security mech stands from his station, leading Black Arachnia, Lugnut, and Oil Slick further into the base. Ratbat, Laserbeak, and Ravage follow closely behind, Ravage sniffing at the legs of the newcomers with a note of suspicion in her frame. Still, she follows, standing between the new mechs and Soundwave with every step.

When Megatron and Shockwave are alone, the warlord raises an optic ridge. “A new symbiote? Why hadn’t I been told?”

“Apologies, my liege. I have been busy here, decoding signals and dealing with the Magnus. But she is quite a beauty, is she not? I created the frame myself, but she is a genuine symbiote – a fragment of Soundwave’s spark and all,” Shockwave explains, his one optic lighting up in excitement. “She is one of a kind. And gets along quite well with her brothers. Soundwave couldn’t be more proud.”

“I take it he has settled into his role well?”

“He is still learning, to be sure. But he has come so far since I first rebuilt him. He is doing wonderfully.”

Megatron nods, taking the good news in stride. After the hassle of life the past few weeks, good news was something to be celebrated. “And as for the Autobots…what do they know?”

“They suspect that the attack will be in the North, as instructed per your plan, my liege. The Southern Hemisphere will be virtually empty, and by the time of the attack, our base will be in the optimal position for attack. Soundwave is ready to hack into their systems and send them haywire while the Seekers attack. All a cover while we retrieve the real information,” Shockwave explains. “Meanwhile the real effort will be concentrated on the Southern base.”  
“Excellent. And keep your optic out for the banned literature. We need history on our side if we are to stand a chance at convincing anyone. Ever since the Primes came into power, they’ve wiped our legacy through the mud.” The warlord’s voice is bitter, and harsh.

Shockwave’s antennae twitch in response to this, but he nods in agreement. “I agree wholesparkedly my liege. I will do as you ask.”

“See to it that you do. I have need for that material should I be able to convince my…well, you know.” His cheeks flush as he looks away, back to the deactivated structure of the space bridge.

“I see…but are you sure he is the right one?” Shockwave gently implores. “I mean no disrespect, of course, but are you certain that he is the one that can help bring about the chance necessary?”

“Of course he is,” Megatron heatedly replies. “He is an Autobot, but young. The best bridge between our two worlds because he is young enough to be taught differently, and the best representative of us willing to give in to make change happen…regardless of how many times we have given in already. And he may be loud mouthed at times, yes…but he is special. I hope that the newfound data will help me to explain what exactly it is I am asking of him. How much it will help Cybertron. That it’ll help him unlearn the drivel and slag the Autobots have been indoctrinating their recruits with for the past four generations!”

“I understand my liege. I would recommend –“ Shockwave is cut off as another alert goes off, on his end of the terminal. “That would be the Magnus. Should I answer?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Uphold your deceit, and for all that is sacred, keep looking for those documents. Megatron out.” The connection was cut, and the warlord walked away.

Not too long after, a little yellow bug crept out from where he’d been hiding behind the terminal of the control room. Bumblebee had seen and heard everything. Perhaps…Megatron had been telling the truth?

* * *

Later that day, with the newly emptied base stretching out before him, Megatron sat on his throne. And he simply thought. He had a mind for tactics and for leadership, things that had been instilled in him since his training had begun all those stellar cycles ago. And of course he’d need concrete proof if he were to ever convince Bumblebee.

“If only it were easier to find,” he mumbled to himself, his chin resting in his right servo. “And if I cannot find it, find that proof…then how would he ever trust me?”

He turns sharply as he hears the approaching pedsteps, too light to be Blitzwing. He turns to see Bumblebee approaching him, sheepishly.

“I heard everything,” Bee admits as he approaches, cutting Megatron’s pleasantries off. “I…I get it. At least, I think I do. It’s confusing, but…it makes sense. I think.”

Megatron straightens in his throne, clearing his throat. “I know. It’s a lot to take in. I’m sorry that you’ve been ill advised and poorly taught in your past. I’m sure you have questions…”

“Of course I do.” The young, scrappy Autobot hesitates a moment, before crawling up into Megatron’s lap. He settles sideways, his aft on the warlords left thigh, peds resting on his right. “But…those can wait. You seemed tense, so I…”

There’s a moment where the two of them simply look at each other, blushing, before the warlord gently puts his servo on Bee’s side, holding him closer to her. “Thank you, Bumblebee.”

The little yellow bug rests his head on Megatron’s chest, optics closing as he slowly begins to relax. “Thank _you_ for teaching me…and for being patient.”

The larger mech hums, before leaning down and, very gently, pressing a kiss to Bumblebee’s audio horn.

* * *

Optimus stared in disbelief at the final data pad in his hands. This one was different from the other 12 he’d read, in that this was written by servo. Some parts were difficult to decipher, but he found himself struggling to understand what he was looking at. Historical scans, uploaded to this data pad, and somehow brought here, to Earth…in Ratchet’s care? What did Ratchet know? And just how old was the medic?

And…how had he gotten ahold of this?

Outlined on the data pad was the creed of the Knights. Signatures filled hundreds of pages, some of them Optimus had never heard of. He didn’t know these mechs, but when he saw Yoketron’s name inscribed on the second to last page, he paused. Would Prowl have known? From what he had read, the ninjas were rather involved in the Knights, save for Yoketron’s “betrayal” of their ideals, when he refused to be a part of the war. The texts had said that the remaining ninjas became bounty hunters on the Knights side – by then known as the Decepticons – or became members of the Autobots.

Even as he contemplates, however, he can’t help but scroll to the very last page. And there, scrawled elegantly, was the name he had both hoped and feared would be there. Now it all made sense. Why Ratchet had believed Bumblebee’s capture would be the end of the war, why he had so firmly believed that it was a good thing.

The name written there, the very last name, was none other, than Megatronus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of these characters.


End file.
